


The Race

by squad51rescue



Category: Emergency!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2019-10-09 06:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17401577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squad51rescue/pseuds/squad51rescue
Summary: A county wide competition has the crew fired up and eager to win. But someone out there has other plans for the "A" shift paramedic team of Station 51.





	1. Chapter 1

 

_This story is an idea that HotShow dangled in front of me back in October of 2016 and asked if I would be interested in writing. I agreed, interested in the subject, but warned HotShow that I didn’t want to start posting until I finished a few of my WIP stories. Now that two are done and the other two are getting close, it’s time to get it out there. So thanks for being patient, my friend, and will be sending you more chapters and questions about the story as I start on Chapter 4!_

_All things Emergency belong to Universal, etc., etc., etc.…_

_Keep in mind that this story is fiction and that this contest would probably never happen in the real world, but it sure is going to be fun to imagine and write, and hopefully read!_

___________________________________________________________________

“Sounds like one of those things at the supermarket, you know, where the guys see who can bag the groceries the fastest?”

It was Chet Kelly’s voice that Roy heard as he ambled into the day room, buttoning up his blue uniform shirt. Chet and Marco were studying a piece of paper posted on the bulletin board, Mike Stoker was standing by the coffee pot observing the two linemen with an amused smile, and John Gage was seated at the table studiously ignoring everyone.

“Morning Johnny, Mike,” Roy greeted, bee lining towards the proffered cup of steaming liquid. He accepted the offering with a nod of thanks and looked at his partner, who had acknowledged his salutation with a grunted hello and returned to the sports page, his hand curved protectively around his own mug of joe. Despite his apparent inattention, Roy was pretty sure that John was watching the two conversing men. He tilted his own head curiously towards what sounded like the beginnings of an argument and watched Chet’s wildly waving hands.

“What’s going on over there?” He asked, blowing on the contents of his mug before taking a cautious sip. When the question produced no response from Johnny except for a rattle of the paper and a shrug, DeSoto glanced towards Mike. Mike imitated the sullen paramedic with a shrug of his own but his smile grew wider.

“Something from Headquarters, some kind of contest I think, involving all the stations.”

“Oh? Anything interesting?”

Stoker joined them at the table, draping long legs over a chair and setting down his coffee. “Not really sure, I haven’t been able to get in close to read it yet. “The boys” over there are hogging it up.”

DeSoto let his own smile escape at the engineer’s unusually long winded answer. He enjoyed his caffeine for several long minutes, letting the heated words flowing from the corner wash over him and trickle away; the argument suddenly ceased and the silence caught his attention. Both linemen approached the kitchen counter and poured out the remaining coffee into their mugs. Chet banged down the empty pot and Marco pointed a finger at it.

“Your turn to make it,” he smirked, and Roy had a feeling that Lopez had been the one to win their battle of words. Chet acknowledged the lofty command with a snort, but tossed the vessel into the sink and picked up a clean one that was resting upside down on the counter. He pointedly turned his back on the rest of the crew as he busied himself making a new pot.

Marco pulled out a chair and plopped into it, glancing at his watch. He reached a stealthy hand towards the back of the newspaper Gage was still perusing; without looking up the dark haired paramedic shook the newsprint in warning and snaked a fast hand under it. He swatted at the invading digits and Lopez snatched back his questing fingers.

“Where’s the rest of it?” He asked, smacking his hand down.

John finally lowered the paper and glanced around. “Dunno, that’s all there was.”

He dropped the section down, carefully folded it, and slid it across the polished wood. “Have at it, nothing in there anyway.”

Marco snatched it up, narrowly avoiding smacking Chet in the face with it. He shook it open with a fast snap and stared at it for a moment before lowering it and looking at Roy.

“Say Roy, how come you do the driving to most of your calls?”

Roy, who now had his head propped up with a hand, blinked at the unexpected question and then looked over at Johnny. “Ah, he’s a better navigator then I am?”

Chet snickered and shot off his own observation, deliberately keeping his back turned. “Or you’re a better driver then he is?”

Chirps of amusement drifted from all of the occupants at the table except for Gage, who scowled, clearly not agreeing with Kelly’s little jab at him. “Can it, Chet. I drive when I want to; I just happen to not want to drive most of the time.”

“Riiiiiight,” Chet drawled out, finally turning around and regarding his pigeon with a solemn look. “Just like you ask out the nurses at the hospital “when you want to” or win at cards “when you want to”……

Another round of mirth rose from the table. Johnny made a huffing sound and abandoned the chuckling hyenas circled around him; he strolled over to the bulletin board and studied the new announcement. He flicked the paper with his finger before nonchalantly strolling out of the room. Roy followed him with his eyes, and then got up to check out the paper himself.

“Well, that’s different,” he said softly, before heading out of the day room.  Gage was easy to locate in the empty, echoing expanse of the apparatus bay; he was standing in front of the county map staring thoughtfully at the pins.

“Think we should enter that contest?” Roy asked, leaning a shoulder into the wall and crossing his legs.

“I don’t know…..sounds kinda corny, don’t cha think? Besides, how exactly are they going to do this so it will be safe and fair, and, well, whatever….…”

John was shaking his head, but DeSoto recognized the gleam in his eyes and the building excitement in his body language. His partner was definitely interested; he was just going to need some encouragement.

“They’ve got it all worked out so that the teams follow the rules. Johnny, you know we have a good chance of winning this,” he cajoled, thumping him lightly on the arm. “Besides, we both could use the cash prize and the other half goes to the charity of our choice. JoAnne and I really need a night out, and I’m sure you can think of some interesting ways to spend yours.”

“Yeah, sure I can always use money, but Roy, this is a bunch of guys, firemen for cripes sake – you know we don’t do anything less than full throttle! There’s gonna be blood spilled in the streets by the time this is over! You’ve seen how these guys are at the picnics and the Olympics, and all we win for those events are ribbons and medals! This is for cold, hard cash!” Johnny’s hands, which had been relaxed at his side, were gesturing wildly as he finished, emphasizing his point.

The older paramedic smiled. “Right, we’re a bunch of competitive fools, I’ll give you that. But like I said, they’re going to have rules and safeguards in place to keep us nuts in line. Besides, we have a secret weapon.”

“Secret weapon, what’s that?”

“Not what, but who…you my friend, are our secret weapon.”

“And just what’s that supposed to mean, friend?” John crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

“Look, I don’t know how you do it, but after about the first three months of working together, you hardly ever looked at the map here or in the squad. In fact, you seem to know every street and shortcut in our area, as well as everything surrounding our territory. There’s no way you could have memorized all of that, even in the two plus years of working out of this station.”

“Huh,” Johnny replied, at a loss for words. He spun on his heel and headed for the dorm, Roy right behind him.

Roy waited until his friend had dropped down onto his bunk before pursuing his questioning. He sat down across from him and leaned forward. “So how do you do it?”

“How do I do it? It’s just a simple matter of learning the streets and paying attention to the detours, road closures, construction, that sorta thing.” Gage flopped back on his bed, lacing his hands behind his head and staring stubbornly up at the ceiling.

Not to be deterred, DeSoto leaned forward farther, balancing his hands on the other’s mattress for support. “There’s more to it than that. I swear you know every out of the way path in the district, so unless you’ve been communicating with the alley cats…..”

“Look, it’s embarrassing, okay? It’s no big deal, just something I seem to be able to do.”

“Which is what?”

There was a long pause, but the relentless questioning seemed to have worked, because Johnny finally muttered the reason. “I have a photographic memory, all right? Can you just leave it alone?”

Roy sat back with a sigh, unable to understand his partner’s obvious distress. “So what’s wrong with that? That must have come in handy during school, and when you were studying for the department.”

“Yeah sure, along with all the accusations of cheating, being a freak, you name it, they called it. Bloody hell, Roy, even my parents thought I was writing the alphabet down my arms before they realized I was telling the truth. Imagine that, your own folks thinking that about you when you’re five years old. So that’s why I don’t broadcast that little nugget of information around.”

“I guess I can understand that,” DeSoto conceded slowly, mulling it over. “So, you don’t want to do this contest?”

The sigh came from Johnny this time as he sat up and drew his legs up under him. “I didn’t say that, I just don’t want everyone and their brother to know that, that bit of knowledge, that’s all.”

“Right, I think we can keep that under wraps, no reason for that to get out. I guess the next step will be to see if the rest of the guys from our shift want us to represent them, and then see if the fellas on B and C shift will also. It sounded like Marco was fishing to see if we wanted to do it.”

“Sure, whatever, let them decide it.” His answer seemed to be perfectly timed, as the unmistakable thumping of footsteps heralded the approach of at least two of their crewmates. Chet burst through the door, followed closely by Mike and Marco.

“So…you guys read about the contest, right?” Chet queried anxiously.

Gage regarded him placidly, the corners of his mouth twitching. “What contest would that be, Chester B?”

“Gage,” he growled. Marco stepped in quickly, bumping the other lineman with his shoulder.

“The three of us agree that you two should represent our shift, the whole station actually, in the, uh, what are they calling this thing?” Lopez asked.

“It’s a “navigational know your county” kind of thing, based on an idea they had over there in the UK,” Mike supplied.

“And contrary to what comes out of Chet’s mouth, we think you guys will be the best team from our station,” Marco hastily interjected as Kelly started to open his mouth. “Johnny seems to know all the streets pretty well.”

“Better than me,” Stoker added with a sly grin.

Johnny let a slow grin build up as he looked around at the men. “So…..you guys want us to be the team from Station 51 in this so called see who can navigate the streets of LA the fastest? And what do you get out of it if we win?”

Chet shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “There’s a trophy for the station that wins, plus, you know, bragging rights until the next competition.”

“If there is another one,” Captain Stanley said, coming to a halt beside the group clustered around the seated men. “Remember, this is just a trial run to see how it goes. Plus, there’s going to be a drawing within the station to determine which paramedic team represents the station.”

He was interrupted by an outraged snort from Chet, who had seemingly forgotten their support of the Gage/DeSoto team only minutes before. “How come only the paramedics get to enter this thing? What if Stoker and I wanted to join in?”

Marco made a noise similar to the one just uttered and slapped his chest. “Fat chance, buddy. I’m the senior lineman; I would be the one to partner with Mike here!”

“No way, guys, we all agreed that OUR paramedics would be the best choice for 51s…” Mike jumped into the fray with both feet, but his voice remained calm.

“Listen twits, it’s a moot point. It’s another caveat of this trial run; this time around only the medic or rescue teams will be eligible. We’ll get some more information on this thing within the next couple of days.” Stanley’s equally level but authoritative comments effectively silenced the squabbling.

“Chet’s hoping when you guys win you’ll treat us to pizza and beer,” Marco added as a parting shot, quickly tacking on a “after the shift is over of course” when Stanley shot him a funny look.

“There won’t be any money left after Gage pays off his speeding tickets; Roy, you’d better not let him drive!” Chet stated glumly.

“Automatic disqualification, Kelly, if that happens. All laws have to be followed,” the captain clarified.

The discussion was halted by the sound of the bay door going up, and the rumble of the engine backing up the drive. Captain Stanley waved a dismissive hand and strolled off to meet the late returning “B” shift.

“Well, looks like it’s time to get to work,” Roy stated, getting to his feet and trailing after the engine crew. “The squad is back, too.”

John dropped his feet to the floor and followed at a slower pace, shaking his head in disbelief. “And they think I’m a nut…”

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

The “A” shift, returning to the station at the start of their next rotation, was met with the news that their paramedic duo had won the drawing for the contest. The chief himself had shown up yesterday and drawn their names. While the rest of the men applauded the news, Johnny was still a bit skeptical about the whole thing. Aside from the fact that he really didn’t want his strange ability spread around the fire stations like wildfire, he thought the top brass had picked a strange idea for the contest. But the other men’s enthusiasm, plus their strong confidence that the 51’s men had an excellent chance at winning the event, kept his mouth shut. He fervently hoped that they wouldn’t be too disappointed if the whole thing blew up in their faces.

“When does the contest start, Cap?” Roy asked, after the news of the winning draw was delivered during roll call. They were still standing in the bay, circled around their leader.

Hank Stanley flipped through the several pages of paper he had attached to a clipboard. “It says here, it will start next Monday and run for four shifts. So that means…”

He looked up at the ceiling, calculating their days on and off. “You guys will actually start on Monday morning, since we were lucky with this rotation and have our days off over the weekend. Obviously that’s the “A” shifts start of the contest; if any of the other paramedic or rescue teams are on the “B” or “C” shifts throughout all the other stations they will start Tuesday or Wednesday and run through their four shifts accordingly.”

Roy nodded in understanding and looked over at Gage, who had wandered over to the map and was staring at it, eyes narrowed in concentration. He moved over to his side as the rest of the men dispersed to start their assignments. “So what do you think? Should we go out this weekend and take a look around? Make sure we have updated information on everything?”

Johnny shook himself loose from his focused contemplation and shifted his attention over to his partner. “Sure, why not, I guess you should drive so that I can navigate, just like the contest, huh?”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Roy conceded, thinking that maybe he would drive JoAnne’s station wagon just to throw Johnny off balance. Nah, that would be downright cruel, depriving Gage of a chance to cruise around in the sports car; plus he was the one pushing his rather reluctant friend to participate in the contest. “I’ll pick up you up on Saturday around ten, and after we get done we’ll get something to eat.”

“Good deal,” Johnny agreed amicably, and went back around the front of the squad to begin the morning calibrations and supply check. “You got some kind of notebook or something like that at home, in case I want to take any notes?”

“I’m sure I can find something.”

Roy joined him at the compartment doors and pulled down the drug box. He unlatched it and flipped the lid open, gazing down at the contents without really seeing them. The sound of Johnny conversing with Dixie over the biophone broke his reverie and he hastily started the inventory.

“You seem kinda distracted…what’s bugging you?”

“Me?” Roy asked, slightly startled by the pair of legs that appeared beside his crouching position.  Apparently Johnny was already finished with the calibrations and had shelved the radio back in the truck’s compartment.

“No, not you, I was talking to Stoker’s baby over there,” he quipped, pointing at the Ward gleaming next to them. “I think she’s a little more attentive then you are; I’ve asked you the same question twice.”

“Oh, well, I was just thinking about this weekend, having it off and all, and of course the contest. Any idea of what charity you want to donate your money to?”

“Roy, what’s our number one rule around here?

Snapping the box closed, Roy stood up and turned sideways to hide his smile, and hefted it back into its slot. He knew perfectly well what John was talking about but figured a little payback was needed. “Don’t get involved with the patients…”

“Ha ha ha, that’s our paramedic rule, not the firehouse rule. Ya don’t jinx things by talking about them, especially around mealtime. Speaking of meals, you want a cup of coffee before we start on our chores?”

“Sure, why…” his reply was cut off by the strident tones blaring through the bay, followed by the voice of an unknown dispatcher. Johnny slammed the compartment door closed and Roy trotted around the front of their vehicle, accepting the call slip from Stanley and grabbing his blue jacket from the hood where he had tossed it.

Roy turned the key in the ignition, flipped on lights and sirens and pulled forward after handing the paper over to his partner. He turned left out of the station.

“Sounded like a new dispatcher,” he commented over the wailing noise of their siren.

“Yeah, but his voice sounds familiar for some reason,” Johnny said, slapping the call slip onto the visor and flipping it back up. He shifted his helmet on his head and laid his right arm along the track of the opened window, giving the new dispatcher’s identity only a moment of thought before concentrating on their surroundings.

-XxxxxxxxxxxxxxX-

Within the headquarters of the Los Angeles County Fire Department, Sam Lanier rolled backwards in his chair and rubbed a hand along his jaw in thought. The new guy seemed to be doing fine; he followed directions well, had the procedures down, and appeared to be quick thinking and able to make fast decisions. Yet there was just something about him that made Sam a bit uneasy. It wasn’t something he could put his finger on but still….he could only hope that it was imagination or that whatever it was that was bugging him would resolve itself or turn out to be nothing at all.

Charles Winston flipped a switch on the panel and then swung around in his chair to direct a huge grin at the veteran dispatcher. He had the bronzed skin and bleached blond hair of a surfer that had spent many hours at the beach and in the salt water. He also had perfect manners, a friendly and outgoing personality, and what was visible of his lean physique showed toned muscles. So how had he ended up here as a dispatcher? He’d been a firefighter for a few years, actually over five if Sam’s information was correct; it was pretty rare for one of those adrenaline and action loving guys to make a move to the quieter, but just as important communications job. Strangely enough, Sam hadn’t heard any of the usual gossip concerning this, and hadn’t worked with the fellow long enough to ask any personal questions. And Charles definitely had not volunteered his reasons behind the career change.

“Say, Mr. Lanier, how am I doing so far? It seems kinda slow, or maybe it’s because I was always on the receiving end of the radio?” He flashed his amazingly white teeth, and all Sam could think was that the guy must not drink a lot of coffee, another unusual thing about the a man that used to ride a truck. All the men that Sam knew, and he knew a lot of them, that worked the twenty four hour shifts drank gallons of the teeth staining stuff.

“Just fine, Charles, and yes, a little slower than usual, but that’s a good thing.” He paused a second to see if the man was going to agree to the comment or add his own take on it, but Charles just kept on grinning and swung back around to face the control panel. Sam shook his head and rolled his chair back alongside of him.

The new dispatcher instantly let his wide smile fade to a blank look as he stared down at the papers in front of him. As soon as he heard the old man squeak his chair alongside of him, he pasted an interested expression back on. He already knew all he needed to know about this ridiculous and boring job, and was just biding his time until his connection came through with that fire department up in Northern California.  In fact, if he hadn’t blown most of his money on that stupid witch of a woman, he would have blown this town many months ago. Then again, he wouldn’t have had to transfer out; she was the only reason he was sitting in this stupid chair, and not out pulling hose or exchanging barbs with the guys he thought were his friends.

Hearing Lanier get up and move towards the other side of the room, Charles let his lips curl into a snarl of contempt. He knew that overbearing, know it all Negro was just dying to find out why he was working in here. Well, he could just stuff his curiosity back into the hole because it wasn’t going to be satisfied by him! One of the terms of his so called “continuing employment” with the county was that he would keep his mouth shut, and they in turn would do the same. As if he was going to go around and tell people that he had been basically pushed out of his station because the men refused to work with him! A bunch of self-righteous fakers his crew had been; all along pretending to be his friend but when a little bit of gossip had wafted about, they had all turned on him and wouldn’t believe his innocence.

Well, they could all just go and jump in the lake for all he cared, because the first day he had worked here he had realized something. The fire department had made a big mistake in dropping him into this position; it was the perfect place to exact revenge. If done correctly, no one would be the wiser. And with this little contest that the big chiefs were implementing, it would be a piece of cake to wreak havoc on certain men that deserved it. And the ones that had started it, that paramedic team over at Station 51, they were going to be the ones he was going to target first, particularly that dark haired one. The others, if he got to them, would be collateral damage. But that dago, spic, Indian, or whatever he was would pay dearly for ruining his life…….

TBC

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

The weekend had passed and the men had returned to work. Roy, usually unflappable at the station, was slightly on edge waiting for the tones to go off. There was no way of knowing if the call would be a true rescue, a medical emergency, or an address with a representative of the fire department waiting at the other end.  For that was how they were going to run the contest – when they arrived at their destination, there would be someone at the site to record their time.

“You seem, oh I don’t know, a little nervous,” Johnny suggested when he spied Roy fidgeting in front of the large map on the wall in the apparatus bay. DeSoto flashed him an irritated glare, which just broadened his partner’s grin.

“I had no idea that this was going to be so stressful,” Roy blurted out, flicking his hand towards the map.

Johnny shrugged. “Just treat it like a normal response and if it’s fake, it’s fake.”

“Easy for you to say,” his partner muttered, staring at the map. He caught Johnny’s little snort of disbelief and raised both hands in appeasement. “I know, I know, I’m the one that was all for the idea. I’m sure once we actually have a “fake” call, as you so eloquently phrased it, I’ll be just fine.”

Gage laughed this time. “Whatever you believe, Roy, whatever you believe.”

He ducked into the day room still laughing as Roy shook his head in disgust at the other’s attitude. He felt a brief pang of regret that he had talked his friend into doing the contest, then squared his shoulders and shook off that flicker of negativity. They had just as much a chance at winning as any of the other teams, and maybe even an edge because of Johnny’s photographic memory. He was going to do his best to win, and drag Gage and his casual attitude right along with him.

The klaxons rang out, interrupting his little pep talk. Stanley flew out of his office and nearly ran him over on his way to the radio; DeSoto sidestepped him and slapped the button to raise the door before jumping into the truck, adrenaline pumping. Unknown type rescue could be anything as they very well knew and that type of call was bound to raise his blood pressure whether or not it was real. Gage thumped down on the seat next to him, giving directions in a rapid-fire voice before Roy’s foot left the brake pedal. So maybe John wasn’t quite as calm as he outwardly appeared, Roy thought with more than a little bit of satisfaction. A smile touched his lips as he heard his buddy fumbling with the chin strap on his helmet, another sure sign that the “cool as a cucumber” veneer was rapidly slipping away, peel by peel.

Unfortunately for both of the paramedics’ nerves, the call turned out to be legitimate. By the time they had freed the man’s finger from the jacuzzi jet, Johnny was waterlogged and exhibiting prune like symptoms, while Roy had a whopper of a headache from the victim’s wife screaming encouraging words in his ear during the whole rescue. They beat a fast, grateful retreat to the sanctuary of their squad when the husband refused treatment.

“Hope the calls get a little quieter,” Roy said, throwing down a yellow tarp on the passenger side seat. He rummaged around in the glove box and triumphantly pulled out the bottle of aspirin they had stashed there for personal use. He stepped out of the way to let his dripping partner enter; a move that Johnny acknowledged with a sour expression.

“And drier,” Gage added in a sullen tone, purposely leaning out and wringing the sleeve of his jacket with a quick twist of his hand. Roy sidestepped the water neatly and grinned. He tipped out a couple of the white pills into his hand and tossed the bottle with a flip back towards Johnny, who snagged it midair with an audible snarl. Roy shook his head, gently, and grabbed the canteen out of the compartment to wash down the bitter little circles. He deposited it back in, closed the door, and strolled back around the squad.

He gently closed his door and winced when his friend slammed his own with a resounding thud and added a noisy thunk of a fist into the dashboard. Hand on the gearshift, he waited for the rant that was sure to follow. A sneeze was the only sound that wafted in his direction, that and the crinkling sound of plastic as Gage shifted on the tarp and pulled listlessly at his pants.

“Sorry,” Johnny muttered. “People can be so…. stupid? Plus, there’s the fact that I smell like I’ve been pickled in chlorine; I don’t know which is worse, over chlorinating or salt water adhering to every cell of my body.”

He seemed content with the two-sentence complaint and lapsed back into silence. DeSoto glanced over at him and bit back the grin that almost made it out. Johnny did look miserable, sitting in a hunched huddle with water sliding off his hair and down his face in slow trickles; there were little puddles forming around his hips on the tarp and even bigger puddles growing around his boots.

“Mm, the wonderful odor and feel of frothing, steaming spa water versus the salty sting of the ocean complete with seaweed strands and bits of shells thrown in…isn’t seaweed supposed to be good for your skin?”

“Very funny,” John snapped back, but his mouth curled upwards. “At least I can shower off the chemicals and change, but you, you are gonna have a whale of a headache for at least a couple of hours. I’m surprised your eardrums are still intact!”

“Yeah, there is that,” Roy agreed and finally let his smile appear. “But I have hopes for a quick recovery and judging by who’s cooking today, much better odds of getting rid of it then being served something edible for lunch.”

John groaned loudly. “Thanks for reminding me! Maybe we should stop for a snack or something before heading back to the barn.”

“Nope, let’s just get back and get our chores done. The only way we’re going to get this contest run out of the way is to be in the station. You know that’s where we have to be for the call to come in.”

“Yeah, I know that, but…. not even a quick stop for a candy bar?”

DeSoto shook his head, pressing his foot to the accelerator. “Not even that. I just want to get this over with, don’t you?”

“Fine, just fine, let your buddy succumb to starvation,” he whined in reply, rubbing a hand across his flat stomach and grimacing in pretend agony.

Roy, who was pretty sure Johnny had indulged in a rather large plate of fried eggs mixed with ham left by the departing shift, gave a tiny shake of his head and rubbed at his temple with his finger, hoping that the pounding in his head would indeed disappear before lunch. While he sympathized with the woman who had been so concerned with her husband, he couldn’t believe that the couple was so…. well, stupid, for lack of a better word. After all, the victim had been trying to fix the jacuzzi jet and somehow got his finger stuck in it; his wife acted like the man was going die and screamed like a banshee the whole time. But the best part had been when freed, the guy had scrambled up and over Johnny to get out and had just about drowned him. Using your rescuer’s head for a step stool was not the way these things were supposed to end!

He looked over at his partner, who decided at that moment to shake off the excess water in his rather lengthy hair. DeSoto grimaced and verbalized an annoyed “hey!” while swiping at the droplets. Gage turned an innocent look towards him, muttered an insincere apology, and stared straight ahead, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

“I was about to ask you how your head was before you so nicely shook like a dog and completely wiped all concern from my mind….” Roy muttered back, wondering if the excessively chlorinated water had addled the other man’s wits.

“Except for the imprint of a large bare foot on my head, I am perfectly fine,” John wisecracked back, gingerly touching his matted hair. “As for my lungs, I’m sure they’re now well preserved and will withstand the smoke from a five alarmer with ease.”

He snickered, and Roy decided to stay with his assumption that the spa water had temporarily scrambled his brains. Either that, or this contest was getting to him. He backed the truck into their station bay with practiced ease, and let Gage get out first before he eased himself out of the cab. Johnny disappeared into the locker room, yanking the plastic tarp after him, and Roy headed for the kitchen and hopefully some caffeine to dull his headache.

-XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX-

Several runs later, Roy’s headache had subsided into a hardly noticeable, dull throb and John was in a much better mood with dry clothes and no noticeable odors clinging to him. Daylight was receding into a soft twilight and aside from the platoon of crickets rubbing their legs together in a discordant harmony in the back-parking lot, both men had relaxed enough to stand outside and enjoy a mug of coffee. They leaned companionably against the brick wall, shoulder to shoulder.

“Head better?” Gage asked softly.

“Sure is,” Roy answered easily, looking off towards the hum of commuters traveling on the 405. He played absently with the edges of a towel he had thrown over his shoulder after using it to wipe down his head and neck after a quick dousing in the sink. “You?”

Johnny tipped his head to each side, shaking out imaginary droplets of water. He grinned and lifted a foot. “All good except for the wet shoes; I forgot to throw my extra pair into my bag this morning.”

“Rookie mistake,” DeSoto teased, quickly dodging the same foot headed in his direction. He shoved the hand towel into his jacket pocket as it started to fall to keep at least one hand free.

“I seem to remember you making that same mistake several times. In fact, I seem to recall…” Gage paused as the tones sounded and the squad was again called out for an unknown rescue. They dashed into the bay, pushing coffee mugs into Stoker’s hands as they flew past him. Johnny paused for a brief second at the map to double check something, then flew around the front of the squad and dived inside as Roy threw it into drive and hit the lights and sirens.

“Pretty far out there,” Gage commented, pointing to the left and nodding in satisfaction at the unquestioning response of his partner. “Two lights up take a right, and then a hard left. We need to miss all that construction….”

DeSoto nodded, following the quick directions that did indeed lead to an address that straddled the edge of their territory. Heads swiveling, they surveyed the area as they pulled up to the curve in front of an office building. Everything appeared normal; if anything, it was unusually quiet for a weekday evening.

“Fourteenth floor?” The older paramedic asked as they entered the lobby of the glass fronted building and headed for the elevator.

“Suite 1402, so yeah…...”

They rode upwards in silence, eyes fixed to the shiny gold veneer of the doors in front of them. An ominous lurch rocked the car between the third and fourth floors and they each braced themselves with a hand on the walls as a series of clunking noises and shrill whining filled the enclosed space.

“Well hell,” Johnny breathed out when the elevator rocked to a halt and the ear -splitting din subsided. He audibly sniffed as he gingerly shifted his weight forwards and reached out a hand for the emergency button on the panel. “You don’t smell any smoke, do ya?”

“No, but I have a feeling this thing isn’t going anywhere soon,” Roy answered with a relieved smile. He reached for the HT when the emergency button produced no audible sounds after three hard pokes of Gage’s finger. The smile froze in place when no response came from the radio in his hand after several tries.

“I guess it’s up to us, then,” Gage decided out loud after watching the play of emotions march across his friend’s face. “Elevator shaft must be in a dead zone; man, though, I hope that rescue isn’t someone having a heart attack.”

Roy nodded and cupped his hands to give John a boost. “Yeah, me too.”

He grunted as he lifted Johnny upwards. One boot was in his hands and the other Johnny had balancing precariously on the wide gold chair rail that encircled the walls. Looking away as dust sprinkled him, he coughed and felt the weight shift as Gage finished moving the ceiling panels and turned slightly to poke his head through. His voice drifted downwards.

“I sure wish we had a pry bar…...can you give me a couple more inches of lift?”

Another grunt as he widened his stance, bent his knees slightly and heaved. He winced as the foot that was on the rail bumped his head and settled on his shoulder; he adjusted slightly and felt the weight disappearing. There was a pause as Gage apparently got the doors opened and pulled himself through them.

“Ok, heads up!”

Roy danced sideways and narrowly avoided the nozzle of a hose, no doubt purloined from a thankfully close fire cabinet. He wondered what his imaginative partner had used to brace the doors open.

“Send the boxes up…...” Johnny shouted again and Roy quickly doubled, then threaded the hose through the handles of the two boxes and knotted them. He tugged and they vanished from site. He could hear the mutters as Gage struggled to get them untied but still found himself sprawling on the carpeted floor on the fourth-floor hallway less than two minutes later. He gingerly drew his legs the rest of the way through the narrow opening and glanced down to see what he’d had to lift them over.

Despite the circumstances, he couldn’t help his chuckle as he stood up and jammed his shoulders between the doors and widened them slightly, trying to keep his lower body angled so that Gage could wrestle the heavy bronze bust out and away.

“Laugh it up Roy, but this thing weighs a ton, and I’m gonna need help lifting it up,” Johnny snarled. Once the statue was clear of the doors, Roy stepped out of the opening and heard them close with a satisfying whooshing sound. He quickly helped John heft the thing back up onto the thick wooden pedestal that was centered against the narrow strip of wall between the elevators, made sure it was secure, and followed his sprinting partner towards the stairs.

“I’ll put the hose away when we come back down,” Johnny said, pointing a hand back toward the tangled length of hose he had tossed against the wall as they reached the door to the stairwell.

“Right,” DeSoto acknowledged as he looped the strap of the HT back around his wrist after completing his transmission to headquarters. They began climbing, their footsteps echoing on the cement stairs. “My question is, how did you manage to carry that statue over there?”

Johnny looked backward over his shoulder at him as he hit the landing, went around the corner with his hand on the metal rail, and started up the next set of stairs. “Had to have been pure adrenaline, I guess, didn’t even notice how heavy it was. Did you notice the “out of order” sign on the other elevator?”

“Yeah, don’t remember seeing a sign on it in the lobby, do you?”

“Nope, there wasn’t one.” John paused, drew in a deep breath, and continued his assault on the ascent, now taking the steps two at a time. “You didn’t happen to read that name on that stand to see who it was?”

“Sorry, didn’t have time for that. Must have been someone important though, pretty good size bust.” He ignored the brief snort of laughter that floated down at the unintended meaning of his comment for he was panting now and his calves were feeling the strain of the rapid climb. He glanced at the square sign next to the exit door and was relieved to see that they only had one level left; he was thankful that they were lugging only a box each and not in full gear pulling hose.

His hand on the rail, Roy started up the last set of stairs at a much slower pace than his energetic partner who had just opened the door leading to the hallway. He inhaled sharply in pain as his leading foot slid out from under him and resulted in a hard drop to his knee on the unyielding surface. He put his free hand down on the surface next to his throbbing knee to push himself off and was shocked to discover a slick film. Some kind of lubricating oil from the feel of it, definitely guaranteed to cause a serious fall if stepped in by someone heading down the stairs.

Remembering the towel still stuffed in his pocket, the perturbed medic pulled it out and quickly wiped off the bottom of his shoe; he rubbed it over the step and left it lying there as a warning to any other foot traffic. He would have to clean it up on the way down, as well as help Johnny put away the fire hose all those floors down. Right now, he had a potential victim to see to, and could only hope that it would be something minor.

He was almost to the landing when the door swung open and Johnny stuck his head through, a funny look on his face. He blinked several times, and then stared uncomprehending as Roy finished his limping climb and waved a dismissing hand.

“I’m ok, just banged up my knee. What do we have?” He paused at the door when the obstruction didn’t move but continued to stand there. “Johnny?”

“Um, yeah, sorry, well, no hurry now…” Gage stammered, finally stepping back and holding the door open as DeSoto awkwardly bumped into it and then his partner as he tried to get through it. Concerned, he started to ask another question but closed his mouth when he caught sight of the figure standing in the hallway with arms folded, foot tapping, and impatience and annoyance flowing towards them in a strong wave.

“Oh,” he closed his mouth on the word following the exclamation and hobbled the rest of the way into the dimly lit hallway, understanding why his usually vocal partner remained mute. For their chief engineer was now marching towards them, two men flanking him. Which meant, of course, that this had been their first timed contest run.

“DeSoto,” Harrison acknowledged with a nod. “Gage already explained to me about the elevator, but what happened to you?”

“There was some kind of oil on the stair, sir.”

“Get that knee looked at before you return to duty. I was watching out the window, saw you arrive, and noted the time; I will time the elevator ride down and add on those minutes for a normal elevator ride up for your official score.”

The man to the chief’s left nodded and made a notation on the clipboard he was holding and both paramedics smiled in relief. They HAD made excellent time to the building and adding only a minute or so to their run time seemed more than fair.

They had all turned towards the stairs when a familiar ding echoed from farther on down the hallway. A man in overalls stepped out of the disabled elevator, a cigar clenched between his teeth. He spied the group standing near the stairwell and waved an arm. “Hey, which one of you idiots messed up my elevator?”

Chief Harrison stepped forward, authority surrounding him. “My two men were trapped in there, sir, on their way to a call up here. As communications were not working, they had to find a way out.”

“There ain’t nothing wrong with this here machine, and as far as the panic button working….” The maintenance man reached back and punched the button, dousing them all with an earsplitting alarm. He slapped it back off and punched a floor button, stepping away as the doors closed and the elevator started to descend. “See? It all works just fine.”

Johnny and Roy looked at each other, their faces registering shock and disbelief. Inside the elevator there was a soft chuckle as a neatly attired, blond headed man pulled himself away from the corner, where he had been hidden from sight from the group in the hallway.

“Idiots, indeed!” Charles Winston snickered, exiting at the floor below and heading for the stairs to clean up any residue oil left behind. “Idiots, liars, and whatever else the Chief throws at them!”

He rubbed his hands together, thinking how easy it was to set up the “malfunctioning” elevator with a handy guy like Joe around. The man owed him a lot of favors, and this was going to be the first of many. Being able to charm that pretty little gal at headquarters had been an added bonus – she had inadvertently given him access to all of the runs for each station for the duration of the contest. A quick detour to the copy machine had given him his own copy of the handwritten dates and locations; the original had been easily slipped back into the folder on her desk to be typed. So, he’d had plenty of time to set this little doozy up and had the next one already planned out.

The stair was quickly cleaned and inspected; he carried the incriminating towel he found along with the small bottle of degreaser with him out of the building with plans to dispose of it in a trash can somewhere else. Getting in his car at a parking lot across the street, he slouched down in the seat and lit up a cigarette, inordinately pleased with himself and his success. He stared at the flickering lights of the squad that were reflecting in his windshield and took a deep drag. “You boys haven’t seen nothing yet!”

TBC

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

The paramedics finally returned to the squad, Roy favoring his sore joint. They were quiet as they shelved their boxes, both absorbed in their thoughts. Johnny bumped the compartment door closed with his knee and loped around to the driver’s side, dropping into the seat with a frustrated sigh. Neither noticed the car parked across from their truck or the sole occupant watching them intently through a dirty windshield.

John waited until Roy got in and closed his door before starting their vehicle. Hand on the gearshift, he looked at his partner. “Something’s really fishy about this call.”

“Yeah it stinks all right,” Roy agreed bitterly, rubbing at his knee and hoping it was nothing serious. “No oil on the stairs, and the towel missing that I used to mark the spill?”

“Uh huh, and the elevator, as well as the panic button, working just fine? The Chief had no clue about any of that, and I’m not sure he believes that it actually happened. Kinda weird how all the things that delayed us suddenly disappeared.” Johnny’s tone now matched Roy’s as he threw the gear shift into drive, flipped the emergency lights off, and eased away from the curb.

DeSoto bit his lip, flicking a glance at his mirror as headlights flashed behind them; a car was pulling out of the lot they had been parked in front of. He looked back over at Johnny. “Almost like someone was sabotaging us, maybe trying to mess up our time or something like that?”

“That’s totally ridiculous for a little thing like this; I mean, really, a goofy contest just to see how we know our area? Why would someone even care enough to try and fix the end results?” Stopping completely at a four way stop, he jerked his head around checking the other directions and then proceeded through. “But I agree that’s what it looks like.”

Nodding, Roy cast an irritated look back at the mirror once again as the car that had followed them from the lot barreled to a screeching halt at the stop sign, revved its engine menacingly, and then turned off to the left with tires screeching.

“Guess he was in a hurry,” he muttered, unable to come up with a plausible reason for anyone to want to mess with the contest.

“Well, let’s just chalk it up to coincidence and get you over to Rampart,” Johnny decided firmly. “But if something weird like this happens again, and on the fake run…….”

“Yeah, then we’ll know something’s up for sure.”

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Charles Winston laughed uproariously as he accelerated down the road and away from the befuddled occupants of the little red rescue truck. It had been priceless watching their body language as they loaded their gear into the compartments; he wasn’t sure whether confusion or anger was the prevalent emotion registering on their faces. And it was a bonus seeing that blond paramedic, DeSoto was it, limping on his way out of the building. The oil had been an afterthought really; he hadn’t been sure that either one of the men would step in it.

He checked his watch, calculating how much time he had left before his shift began. Realizing he had at least three hours, he careened through a yellow light and headed for his apartment to shower before he changed. He would then hit a restaurant he liked to eat at over on Columbus Street. There were several young waitresses over there that practically fought over the right to serve him, especially when he was in uniform. Apparently being young, handsome, charming, and wearing the blues of a firefighter really lit the fire under those ladies, especially one in particular. He thumped his chest and let out a howl, enjoying his own cleverness and absolute maleness.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

“We missed supper back at the station. Do you want to grab a bite to eat?” Roy called over to Gage as they split apart and headed for the doors of their truck. Johnny stopped near the left front fender and grinned.

“Sure, you know I’m always hungry. Got any suggestions?”

“Some of the guys on “C” shift were talking about a place over on Columbus Street called “The Wave”. You heard of it?” He settled into his seat and shut the door.

“Sure, I’ve been there myself a few times,” he responded enthusiastically, cruising slowly through the Rampart parking lot. “Good food, cheap prices, and the waitresses there are mighty fine to look at!”

DeSoto groaned and considered popping a couple of the Tylenol Morton had given him; taking them not for his merely bruised knee but for the headache he was sure was going to hit him if Johnny started an endless dialogue about the merits of being single. “I should have known that you would know about this place.”

A sideways glance accompanied by a big grin was all Johnny gave him, for now anyways. He pulled onto the side road and whistled for a few minutes as he drove, tapping fingers against the steering wheel to the unrecognizable tune. He seemed inordinately pleased with something and his partner considered the consequences of asking him what it was.

“The way I figure it Roy,” he said slowly, as if continuing a previous dialog. “All things considered, we had a really good run time for the race, don’t ya think?”

“I thought you weren’t interested in this contest?” Roy replied, answering the question with one of his own. He already knew the answer of course, but sometimes it was a good idea to reaffirm Johnny’s ideas before he headed off in a different direction.

“I wasn’t really; I mean, I still think it’s kinda corny, but I don’t wanna let the guys down, or you either for that matter.”

“Okay, than I agree with you, we did have a really good run time,” he answered, trying to keep his merriment contained, at least while they were driving. Gage was getting into the spirit of this thing just like Roy had thought back at the station; but if he dared say a word about it, the mercurial young man was liable to start an argument to the contrary.

Still tapping but thankfully done with bird mimicking, Johnny flipped the signal on and turned into a large paved parking lot. The restaurant was in the middle of the strip plaza, flanked on both sides by smaller businesses.  The lot was fairly full, but Johnny was able to drive through a just emptied slot and park facing out in the adjoining space.

Roy shook his head as they climbed out and headed for their dinner. “They look pretty busy, and I don’t think we’ll have time to eat, let alone wait.”

“It’s not what it seems,” Gage said, snapping his fingers to emphasize his next words. “They’re that fast, seriously. It’s a pretty casual place if you’re thinking they have lace tablecloths, a maître d, and stuff like that.”

“I can’t afford to eat at places like that, so no, that’s not what I was thinking.” Roy declared as they strolled up to the double doors and entered. A neatly attired host seated them immediately, winking at Johnny as he pointed to the HT swinging from Roy’s hand.

“If you get called out, use the doors to the left of your table to leave. We’ll keep your food warm, if you have some left, for up to two hours. We have your card on account, right Johnny?”

“Yep, sure do, thanks Ray,” Gage replied, sliding into the booth and snatching up the laminated menu. Roy sat across from him and picked up a shorter board that featured daily specials. “Oh hey, man, this is my paramedic partner Roy DeSoto.”

The men quickly shook hands. “It’s nice to meet you Roy. Melanie will be right over, fellows.”

Johnny waved a hand in thanks, not lifting his dark head from the concentration he was bestowing on the printed words; Roy couldn’t resist teasing him. “Hey, don’t you have that thing imprinted on your brain? It sounds like you come here a lot...”

His partner snarled in reply and stabbed a finger in his direction. “And that’s exactly why I don’t tell anybody about that little thing. Geez Roy, I expected a lot more from you.”

He slapped the menu down on the table and rested his chin in his hand, staring out the large window that overlooked the front of the lot.

“I’m sorry, Johnny, I should have realized how sensitive you’d be about the subject, especially since you really didn’t want to talk about it in the first place. I was way out of line on that comment.”

His apologetic words had the opposite effect, however; Gage half rose from the green vinyl bench and leaned forward, face only inches from Roy’s. “That’s another thing, why do you keep saying I’m sensitive? I tell you something in confidence and you make jokes about it. The way I see it, that’s you being rude and me calling you out.”

He abruptly thumped down as a young, raven haired waitress glided over and graced both medics with a huge smile while deftly sliding drinks onto the table. She moved the water glass in front of Roy and the one filled with iced tea next to Johnny’ hand. She touched the clenched hand, cheerfulness radiating from every pore.

“Johnny, I haven’t seen you in so long!” She gushed, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “And I finally get to meet your partner, I’m so excited!”

Introductions ensued, orders were taken, and lemonade appeared for Roy’s enjoyment. She was gone as quickly as she had appeared and John tapped his watch.

“Time it; the food will be back here in six minutes.”

He obediently checked his watch while taking a cautious sip of the homemade drink. Smacking his lips in appreciation of the tart but yet sweet beverage, he regarded Johnny over the lemon that artfully adorned the rim of his glass. The other man was draining his tea in thirsty gulps and appeared completely relaxed.

“Johnny…”

“Forget it, okay? It’s all good. I admit I am sensitive on occasion and that was a totally stupid thing, losing my cool.” The glass was set down and another pretty lady appeared to refill the glass. She leaned in, whispered something in the younger man’s ear, winked and smiled at Roy, and danced away. Johnny laughed while Roy stifled a cough behind his hand

“And I admit I’m an insensitive boor who should learn to keep his mouth shut and not tease his friend about sensitive subjects,” Roy managed to get out before Melanie reappeared, balancing plates with talent equal to that of a circus juggler. The plate with sloppy joes, a mound of golden French fries, and six pickles went on John’s paper placemat, while the chicken linguini with garlic bread wafted its tantalizing odor through the air as it found its home behind the lemonade.

“What I tell you?” A green spear vanished within Gage’s mouth; he crunched as he held up six fingers.

Roy nodded not bothering to verify the minutes as his attention was on his own food. The noodles were a lot more al dente then he was used to but he actually liked them better. Anne sometimes overcooked pasta, but it was more from the distraction of children then the lack of cooking knowledge. The al dente noodles probably explained how the food had arrived within John’s six minute estimate and yet tasted fresh. He supposed if you dropped the noodles into an already boiling pot of water, drained them and added to the slow simmering sauce it would be done in about five minutes. Plate it, add the freshly broiled bread, and hand off to the incredibly fast wait staff.

Chewing, he watched as another pickle disappeared; he raised his eyebrows in a questioning arc. The hands that were closing around the bun paused and went up in the air as Gage attempted to use his hands to talk. He shrugged and swallowed, dropping the hands back down to attempt a pickup of the overflowing sandwich.

“I like pickles!”

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Winston swaggered in through the door, acknowledging Ray with a stiff nod but eyes sliding beyond the host and searching for some of the waitresses. If Ray noticed the insult he didn’t acknowledge it; he politely guided the uniformed fireman to a table set for two. His lips remained in a smile as the perfectly coifed blonde haired man refused the menu with a sneer.

“I know what I want old man! Is Melanie on tonight?”

“Sorry sir, she is working but her tables are all occupied.” Ray’s voice was apologetic but his fingers, hidden behind the menu, were flexing in anger at the rudeness.

Winston ignored him as he left and sprawled back in his chair, narrowed eyes perusing the customers in the restaurant. His table was tucked into an alcove and it was hard to see most of the occupants. Worse yet, it was hard for them to see him in his neatly pressed uniform, badge shining. His lip curled up in scorn at the placement and he started to rise from the wooden seat, intent on demanding a new table. A quick glance at his watch, though, deterred him from the idea. He had spent too much time on the phone while back in his apartment; so much so, he hadn’t had time for his planned shower. He had been able to touch up and style his hair, fortunately, which was always a priority before he appeared in public.

He shifted in the seat not pleased that he hadn’t obtained a comfortable booth. Even though the place seemed to be busy, they had passed several unoccupied booths but yet he had been basically relegated to a back corner. And the parking lot in front had been completely full; he had to park his Charger on the side of the building close to the dumpsters. He snorted in disgust, thinking that in the last al month this joint had gone downhill. It wasn’t the first time that he had been dumped in a poorly lit corner, denied his favorite server, and just basically not been given his due. He stroked a thoughtful finger along his jaw, wondering if word had gotten out about his transfer.

A woman in her thirties, garbed in the short black dress that the waitresses wore, came around the corner and stopped by his side. “What can I bring you to drink, sir?”

Charles raked his eyes down her shapely curves, then slowly and obviously back up to her mascaraed lashes. A bit on the dinosaur side, but she might be fun and experienced in the sack. She must be new, because he had never seen her before. He leered, licking his lips. “Why don’t you have a drink with me after I get off my shift as a firefighter? I don’t think anything here is gonna satisfy my cravings, know what I mean?”

She shook her head, her smile losing wattage; she lifted her hand, prominently displaying the gold band on her ring finger. “No, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. We have Coke products, tea, coffee, milk, and of course water.”

A scowl as the man contemplated whether or not he had time to pursue her. Married didn’t mean a thing to him; it just made the chase more exciting. But it was getting late and she was too new to waste any more time on.

“Just bring me a Reuben with a side salad, no onions, and French dressing. And a Bud, and tell Mel her favorite guy is here.”

She hesitated, clearly confused by the beer order when he was in uniform. He stared at her, challenging her to say something. Nodding, she scurried away and Winston laughed, pleased at her reaction. He pushed back his chair, spread his legs wide, and tipped the chair back onto two legs. He drummed his fingers on his knee for a moment, then crossed his arms, and swiveled his head casually to check things out. There was still not much to see, although here came his little waitress with the beer on a tray. He glanced at her name tag.

“Thank you Miss Becky,” he purred, turning on his oily charm and abandoning the tough guy bit. She merely acknowledged this new and improved persona with a nod and left before he could unfold his arms and capture her hand.

Grunting, he dropped back on four legs and chugged the beer, draining most of it in a few thirsty gulps. His head shot up at the familiar sound of Melanie’s laugh; he slammed the glass mug down and shot to his feet. He followed the sound of the seductive chimes of her merriment around the corner and froze at the sight before him.

The men he had so thoroughly set up earlier were standing in front of a booth with his favorite lady. Melanie was giggling, which was bad enough, but she also had her arms thrown around the black haired man of the duo and was hugging him fiercely. Gage had a surprised look on his face but that wasn’t stopping him from gripping the girl right back, a cheesy grin on his face.

Winston stomped forward, a red haze clouding his vision. He clamped a beefy hand around her wrist and tugged. A hand immediately dropped on his forearm.

“You sure you want to go there again?” Roy DeSoto asked in his ear; his voice was deceptively soft and calm but his grip tightened in warning on Winston’s arm.

The dispatcher glared at him but released Melanie’s wrist. Realizing how close he had come to blowing his revenge plans, he stepped back and raised his hands. “It’s cool, didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“I believe the lady thinks otherwise,” Johnny growled, not bothering to hide his anger. He had disengaged his arms from the waitress and put her behind him; her face peeked out from under his arm.

“Uh…yeah, sorry Melanie, I got a little carried away. I just haven’t seen you in a while. I know I come on strong sometimes…..” He laid on the lies like the peel on an onion, using a wheedling tone and bowing his head contritely.

“It’s okay,” the waitress whispered, moving away from her shelter and handing Roy the bill. Her voice grew stronger as she spoke. “Please go sit down and finish your dinner, Mr. Winston, before it gets cold; let’s just forget all about this.”

“Yes, thank you, I will.” Charles kept his head down but flashed a malevolent glare towards the paramedics. He meekly returned to his table, snatching up his beer and draining the dregs in one long swallow. Thumping angrily into his chair, he kept his hands clenched together in his lap as he stared down at the plate of food awaiting him. He had been so close to losing it….

Roy, clutching the bill and Johnny’s money for his share, headed for the cashier. He searched for the Winston fellow as he took a circuitous route towards the front; he wanted to give Johnny time to have a quick chat with Melanie. The younger man had sent him a look over the lady’s head which he had understood quite clearly.

Minutes later, a bit relieved that he hadn’t spotted the obnoxious firefighter, Roy strolled to the door. John came out right behind him and Roy nodded. Their timing was perfect as usual. Without speaking, they moved to the rescue truck and climbed in, Gage still on the driver’s side.

“She said that he’s still with the fire department, but as a dispatcher.”

“Ah, that voice we heard the other day,” Roy remembered with a frown.

“Yep, that’s the one. He’s been going to the restaurant since it opened, was all nice and friendly at first, popular with the girls and polite and just as friendly with the males of the staff. A couple of months ago, apparently about the time we responded to that call…..” Johnny paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek as the unpleasant memory flooded over him concerning that particular run. “He started showing his true colors, rude and obnoxious, laying his hands on the younger female waitresses, stuff like that. That place is a popular hangout for our district, you know? So I think the staff there heard the gossip about that run he was involved in and then he started behaving like that, showing his true self…….Melanie says they’ve been giving him the cold but polite shoulder and he’s close to being banned. So a couple of weeks after that the waitresses learned, again through the gossip that Winston was no longer on the truck but yet kept bragging about fighting his “big fires”.”

He used air quotes to emphasize his last two words before starting the engine. Roy stared out of the window and pondered what he had disclosed. “So he’s either delusional or thinks nobody knows he was transferred?”

“Probably both,” Gage muttered in disgust. “How is it that he’s still with the department, anyways? Shouldn’t he be in jail?”

“Not if the woman didn’t press charges; we weren’t called on to testify, were we? The department can’t let him go, but they can make his life miserable in their subtle ways. Must have made some kind of deal with him…..”

“Yeah, else he knows someone really well that’s high in the ranks,” Johnny said in disgust. “Let’s go get some sleep.”

~TBC~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Thursday morning rolled around and the “A” shift returned to work. For the paramedic team, their last rotation had ended quietly, with surprisingly no responses after their “fake” call. They were on edge today, however; the uncertainty as to whether the sabotage of their run had been a fluke or a planned event was still weighing heavily on both of their minds.

They were crouched on the floor of the apparatus bay next to the squad, checking supplies and doing the daily calibration check. Johnny paused in his inventory of their “tackle box”, holding gauze pads aloft as he looked at his partner.

“Do you think they’ll post all the run times and the standings in the stupid contest as we go along, or just tell us who wins at the end?”

Roy studied the bio-phone, checking the charge, while he considered the question. “Not really sure, I don’t remember Captain Stanley saying anything about it.”

“Nope, I don’t either, that’s why I asked.” He slapped the supplies back in the box, snapped it closed, and rose to his feet. Shelving the box, he hesitated, a finger tracing the ridges in the plastic as he stared at it. “On my days off, all I could think about was that guy, Winston is it?”

At DeSoto’s nod he continued. “What makes guys like him tick, do you think? I mean, he has a good job, smart enough to get through training, on the surface he looks like he has it all….yet he beats up on his girlfriend for no apparent reason.”

“I guess the same things that influence everybody; upbringing, genetics, friends you hang out with, location, different way of thinking, proving he’s a man, and so on…”

“And on and on,” Johnny finished with a sigh. “I also did a little research, among my circle of cop friends? You were right, she didn’t press charges, but somehow the word got out about it and the fellows at his station pretty much ostracized him, even his partner on the hoses. They basically refused to work with him and that’s when the brass got involved.”

Standing up, Roy slid the orange bio-phone back in the compartment. “Well, the gossip sure didn’t come from us. We didn’t even know he was with the department when we ran into that mess.”

“Yeah, I know. Guys like that make me sick, though, so I’m glad someone did rat him out.” Johnny slammed the palm of his hand against the squad for emphasis and stalked away in the direction of the locker room and his daily chore, rubbing his hands down his pants as if talking about it had soiled him.

Roy watched his departure thinking similar thoughts. He closed the door and went around the nose of the truck. Stopping at the map, he searched for the road closure Stanley had brought up during roll call. He had seen Gage peruse it earlier but as the driver, it helped to have a basic knowledge.

Satisfied, he continued on into the kitchen, thoughts of what to prepare for the next three meals running through his head as well as where their next contest run would be. Marco trod in right behind him, briskly rubbing his hands together. He flexed his fingers and snagged the coffee pot from the stove top.

“Mike said to tell you guys that there’s lane closures on the 405, west of the Avalon exit.”

“Ah, good, thanks Marco, didn’t know that. Might get a little dicey during rush hour,” Roy said as he opened the refrigerator door and peered inside.

Mug in hand, Lopez leaned against the ovens and regarded his crewmate over the steaming liquid. “How’d you guys do on your first contest run? You really didn’t go into much detail last shift.”

Roy shrugged as he pawed through the vegetable bin, eyeing the brown lumps nestled at the bottom and wondering what they had been in a former life. “I think we did pretty good, but I’m not sure how we did in regards to everyone else.”

He and Johnny had agreed not to discuss with the rest of the crew what had happened at the site. It was all speculation on what had occurred and they didn’t want to get the rest of the men stirred up, especially when they were unsure themselves.

The klaxons blared, calling the engine to a fire in an alley. Marco made a face, set his mug down on the table, and trotted into the garage. Feeling sympathy for his crewmate, Roy gave up on his exploration and cleaned out the unknown pieces in the drawer, hoping they weren’t some exotic plant species that someone had purchased for a future meal.

He was washing Marco’s cup when the tones went off again, a call to a location on one of the roads that ran through Torres Canyon. He shot into the garage, noted Johnny already at the radio acknowledging the call, and flew into his seat. Gage loped around the front of the truck and joined him; lights and sirens blaring they headed out of the station.

“I think…” Johnny began, grabbing his notebook off the floor mat and flipping rapidly through pages. He fumbled around on the floor and snagged the Thomas map book. “We can shave off about ten minutes of time if we take this dirt road that cuts across the main road.”

“How slow are we gonna have to go on that shortcut? Is it a maintained road, or just a cow path?” Roy asked skeptically, flipping on the blinker and turning right.

“It’s pretty darn good; I’ve gone hiking up there. In fact, I actually just used it yesterday on my bike.”

Roy shot him a surprised look. “You don’t normally take your bike when you go hiking do you? How do you carry your gear?”

Johnny grinned and scratched his head before pointing a finger towards the next light. “Hook a left up there…no I didn’t go hiking. I was just out riding around, checking out the roads and such.”

“Aww, good idea, you should have given me a call and I would have gone with you.”

“I wasn’t exactly alone, if you know what I mean,” his partner commented slyly, grinning even wider. He withheld any further comments and concentrated on their route, giving directions as needed.

It wasn’t long before they reached the barely visible turn off for his shortcut. DeSoto was amazed that Johnny had even found it; he was further surprised at the condition of the dirt road. While they had to roll up their windows to avoid a dirt suffocation, the road was fairly smooth and had quite a bit of gravel on it. Definitely a county-maintained road, although he wouldn’t recommend taking the engine down it because it was narrow.

Roy was able to keep his speed up to what it had been on the paved street, and it wasn’t long before they had reached the main road. He turned left and they cranked their windows back down as they headed for the location. Here the two lane road followed the curve of the canyon, a sharp drop-off a mere five feet from the edge of the pavement on Johnny’s side.

“Should be about four miles ahead where it opens up onto a meadow on your side, and I think there’s some kind of parking overlook on my side,” John informed him, stretching out of his window a bit to see the road ahead of them and checking the mile markers.

Roy nodded but focused on the winding curves and the sharp increase in elevation, decreasing his speed to match the conditions. He kept both hands on the wheel in a white knuckled grip, feeling the wind pull at the little truck. He had been through this canyon before on the way to the lake on the other side, and had hated every minute of it then, just like now. He was glad Johnny remained vigilant, perched on the edge of his seat and shaggy hair blowing about his head like a whirling dervish.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Charles Winston shifted his body and tried to settle into a more comfortable position. While he had the appearance and demeanor of a surfer, he actually hated being outdoors whether it be the woods or the ocean. But here he was, sitting in dirt and rocks and other nasty stuff, waiting for his targets to appear. He patted his hair gingerly, snarling as his fingers encountered a strand out of place. Using one finger, he carefully tucked it in.

He lifted his head and scanned about him, his gaze taking in the road that wound below him, the narrow path that he had hiked to get up here, and the climbing sun that was so crucial to his plan. He smiled and adjusted his designer sunglasses against his nose. It was just too bad that nobody else but his helper could know of his brilliant plan and applaud him for his sharp intelligence. He had driven out here yesterday at exactly the same time, hiked the long, steep trail to get up to the top of the mountain where he now sat, and had practiced his devious payback scheme. Even allowing for a twenty-minute variance in time, it had worked perfectly.

He wiggled again in the dirt, glancing at his watch. If his calculations on the route were correct, as he was positive that they were, the rescue truck would be along in eight to twelve minutes. He sighed in irritation, thinking of a hundred other things he could be doing now if it weren’t for that idiotic woman. Everything was her fault and yet he was the one suffering for her stupidity.

Shaking his head at the sheer idiocy of it all, Winston fought down the urge to get out of the annoying dirt and stand up to stretch. He still couldn’t believe those paramedics had been leaving from an unnecessary medical call next door at the same moment he and his girlfriend had been fighting. He had punched her, she had screamed, and the nosy idiots had apparently intercepted her as she ran out into the parking lot. By the time he had pulled on a shirt and shoes and followed her out, they’d had her sitting on the back bumper of their dorky little truck and were administering treatment. The first thing that Gage had done when he saw him closing in on his woman was to stand up and block his view of her.

“Sir, you need to stay back. The police are on their way,” the paramedic had threatened, holding up that black phone in his hand like a weapon. Charles had laughed, not in the least bit worried about the skinny man blocking his path, but then DeSoto had slowly unwound from his crouch next to Ginger. He had hesitated as the odds in his favor dropped; the sound of approaching sirens cemented his decision to remain where he was. He had simply smiled and folded his arms across his chest, watching and listening.

Of course both those medics and the cops had claimed he had beaten her. Winston was pretty sure those two had pummeled her further before he got there and caused the black eye, split lip, missing teeth, and the purple hand prints around her neck. He would admit to the broken nose but there was no way his one punch caused all that damage.  Then again, maybe it had been more than one hit; he was a bit hazy on all the details once she had accused him of sleeping with her best friend. But it was no worse then what his pops used to inflict on his mom, who took the punishment silently like she was supposed to and usually learned from her mistakes.

Charles Winston Sr. always said that women had to know their place and if they didn’t toe the line, they paid the consequences. He firmly believed in his father’s philosophy but Ginger obviously didn’t know the rules. Although, in the end, she had clammed up and refused to press charges. But she had also refused to see him when he had visited her in the hospital bearing gifts and had sent him a message via a mutual friend, threatening him with a restraining order if he ever came near her again. Charles had shrugged it off and moved his few belongings out of her place, a bit annoyed at having to go back to his much smaller apartment but not too perturbed about the whole situation. After all, he was already in another relationship with her best friend and had a couple of prospects waiting in the wings.

He had thought that was the end of it all and was seriously contemplating the offer of a much older woman to move in with her at her beachside home; it would be a long trek to work but lazing on the deck catching the rays on his days off might be worth it. He had been taken by surprise when he had been called into his captain’s office a mere week later and told that the other men no longer wanted to work with him. If he didn’t transfer to dispatch quietly, there would be an investigation and blah, blah, blah…..

So he had left, fuming and feeling betrayed. And now here he was wallowing about in the filth like a pig, ready to exact his revenge on the two who had ratted him out. Somehow they had found out about his rich benefactor with the beach house because she had withdrawn her offer and her attention; so not only had he been “demoted” to dispatcher but he had also lost the possibility of an easy going lifestyle.

The sound of an approaching siren caught his attention and covered his hiss of rage; his boys were earlier then expected. But that was okay as he was ready. His aversion to the outdoors stemmed in part from his years as a Boy Scout, but now some of that woodsy stuff was paying off. He positioned the mirror on his knee and waited. Having already practiced his angle, he knew exactly when to flash it. He waited impatiently, eyes slitted in concentration and mouth curled in a snarl as the radio at his side crackled to life.

“I hear it,” a low voice muttered and Winston nodded to himself in acknowledgement, maintaining his order of radio silence except for those three words.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Roy headed up another steep incline, easing off the gas a bit as he felt the backend slide in the loose gravel strewn across the edge of the pavement. He felt rather then saw Johnny tense up next to him and chanced a lightning fast glance to the side. Beyond his partner’s bent head he could see nothing but air; he swallowed hard and blinked rapidly to clear his head of the thought of that sheer drop only a few feet away.

John forcibly huffed his breath out, realizing only now that he had been holding it. He kept his attention on the sharp curve ahead, noting with a frown the section of metal guard rail in front of him that was missing. He opened his mouth to warn Roy but an exclamation of “watch it!” tumbled out instead as two things simultaneously happened. A large, paneled sided truck veered around the curve, careening over the solid yellow line and into their lane as a brilliant light flashed through the windshield directly into Roy’s eyes, blinding him.

Thrusting out his arm, Gage grabbed the steering wheel and turned it towards him as Roy flung up a hand to block the flash and took his foot off the gas. The sound of screeching metal upon metal filled the cab for a second before the delivery vehicle corrected its trajectory and sped away, tires squealing as the driver accelerated.

Neither men noticed the departing truck; their attention was focused on the rapidly approaching cliff edge. The steering wheel was wrenched in the opposite direction by both men as Roy regained his sight; Johnny removed his hand and braced himself as it appeared they were about to take an unscheduled flight into thin air……

TBC

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Charles Winston scurried across the rocky, dry terrain, bent double to create a low profile against the skyline in case anyone was looking up. He traversed the downward sloping path carefully but quickly; once he was sure his head was no longer visible he straightened up with a relieved grunt and bounded surefootedly down the trail. Accompanied by a slide of pebbles and dirt, he followed the barely visible track that leveled out and followed the curve of the hill. It was a long hike, at least a mile, but he maintained a steady pace.

He slowed only when the trail dropped again and tread quietly the last sloping hundred yards. Crouching, he peeked around the clump of scraggly bushes that partially covered the trailhead. The car he had borrowed, a dented and dirty brown Vega, was sitting there with its bumper touching the foliage, backed neatly into a small turnout. Seeing no cars on the road that wound in front of the car, he slipped through the narrow opening and climbed into the Chevy.

Grinning, he eased the car onto the road and accelerated away from where the fire department brass waited for Station 51’s paramedic team. Might be a long wait if the noises he heard were any indication of their fate. While he would have loved to watch his revenge play out, it would have been a foolhardy choice to remain on the hillside. But he’d heard the screeching scrape of metal against metal and then the sweet sound of squealing brakes being stomped on……and then the silence as he had shot down and across the mountain. No siren wailing, no frantic yells, nothing at all in the distance had reached his ears. If they had gone over the cliff, it would have taken several seconds to reach the bottom; he wasn’t sure if the sound would have carried that far or even whether he could have heard it over the sound of his pounding feet, heavy breathing, and the shifting, falling debris tumbling down around him. It really didn’t matter, though, as he would be equally pleased by the damage to their vehicle and hopefully to their minds if they hadn’t careened over the edge. Of course that would also mean more devious plans to enact against them, but that was all right because he had more up his sleeve.

He chortled gleefully and headed away from the city, content to take the very long northeast route that would eventually circle back around to Los Angeles via back lanes. Even in a car that couldn’t be tied to him, he didn’t want to have some keen observer notice him if he drove by the scene. If there were fatalities, the road would be closed sometime soon; of course that wouldn’t be until they figured out the “holier than thou” paramedics were missing.

Touching his only slightly wind ruffled hair, lacquered with an expensive but obviously well worth it hair spray, he grinned widely as he began plotting out the final details of the payback he was going to deal to his former crewmates. All of them, in a single swipe….

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Sliding, sliding, sliding……the brake pedal was to the floor but yet they were still moving rapidly towards the drop off – towards the exact spot where the metal barrier was missing. Hardly a major deterrent to be sure for over six thousand pounds of metal barreling towards it, but it would have least slowed down their momentum a tad, given them maybe a second to bail out of the cab. Too late now, all he could see in front of him was the deceptively calm blue of sky and nothingness.

The acrid smell of hot brakes accompanied the shrill noise of them trying to do the job they were designed to do. His life was flashing before his eyes when the rescue truck finally jolted to a sharp, neck snapping halt and rocked forward, teetering reluctantly, it seemed to Roy, like it didn’t want to careen towards its fiery demise. That makes two of us, he thought as he gently slipped it into reverse and felt wheels grabbing earth. He backed them away from the precipice, sweat beading his forehead and sliding down his shirt as he maneuvered them several feet from the cliff’s edge.

“Stop there, otherwise the back end will be on the road,” Johnny commanded through gritted teeth, his hands still braced on the dash but his head turned towards his door’s mirror; Roy checked his and realized it was useless, bent inwards with the glass flat against his door. He recalled with a shudder the truck swerving towards them and the subsequent scream of metal. They had been lucky, very lucky.

John made a little noise and he swung his head back towards him in time to see him lift his hands away from the vinyl.

“I thought for sure I would have left indents,” he said shakily, flexing a hand and then reaching out and flicking the siren off. “Can’t stand the noise, but we need to get going to our response. Is she safe to drive?”

Roy thrust his head out the window and peered down the length of the vehicle in both directions. Aside from the mirror, minor scrapes and denting seemed to be the extent of the damage. He nodded and Gage snatched up the mike, reporting the accident as his partner cautiously pulled them onto the roadway and accelerated towards their call.

Less than a mile up the twisting road, they passed the mile post marker where their call had been reported and both groaned at the sight that appeared before them. Parked in the tiny paved lot that overlooked the valley below was Chief Harrison’s car. DeSoto pulled in alongside and cut the engine, the adrenaline that had been slowly dissipating shooting skyward once again.

Harrison laid his hands on the window frame and looked in, taking in their appearance with an appraising glance. “You two okay?”

Johnny folded his hands together in his lap and cleared his throat. “Yes sir, we are.”

The Chief nodded and stepped back. “The authorities are on their way, as well as a tow truck.”

He strolled briskly to the damaged side of the squad, Johnny following him and hoping his legs would hold him up. He followed him as far as the back bumper and nonchalantly leaned against it as all three of them stared at the destruction that had been wrought.

Roy knelt down and peered at the front tire, then up into the well. He stood up and dusted off his pants. “Looks good, just surface damage from what I can see.”

Harrison nodded, stared thoughtfully at the damaged mirror, and looked again at the paramedics with a worried frown. “Did you get a good look at the vehicle that hit you and forced you off the road?”

“No Sir, there was some kind of light flashing in my eyes right before impact…” Roy trailed off, shrugging helplessly as he got to his feet.

Johnny shook his head. “I really didn’t, either, just saw that it was a large truck, white, kinda like those brown UPS trucks.”

The chief nodded again and glanced at his watch. “You still made excellent time even with that unfortunate incident; I’ll let you men make the choice on whether you want to count this as one of your timed runs or have a redo this shift.”

The paramedics glanced at each other, considering, as Harrison strolled back to his car.

“You saved us a lot of time with that shortcut,” Roy observed with a little smile.

“Yeah, and frankly I don’t want to sit around all day waiting for another one of these contest runs; I’ve had enough excitement for the day, possibly for the next six months! Okay with you if we have this one count?”

Roy turned and stared at the edge of the cliff, the knot in his stomach loosening slightly. “I totally agree with you on this one.”

Johnny punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Let’s go tell the chief then and…oh, brother, I just thought of something.”

“What is it?”

“I sure hope Charlie isn’t in that tow truck.”

DeSoto’s grin grew wider but his thoughts were swirling. That flash of light as they had rounded that curve really bothered him; another coincidence or another attempt at sabotage? If it had been a deliberate act, they had almost succeeded. His hands clenched involuntarily against his thighs as he followed his friend to where Harrison was waiting.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

A shift later the two men sat at the table in the day room. Johnny rested his head on his cupped hand while dragging his fork in circles around his plate; Roy had given up all pretense of eating and was instead staring blankly at the opposite wall. The engine crew was out on yet another call while the paramedics’ repaired truck sat forlornly in the apparatus bay, only having been out once since they had started the shift.

They had discussed the accident over and over, and the only conclusion they had arrived at was to inform Captain Stanley of their suspicions. Unfortunately, they hadn’t had the chance to do so yet. After the accident, they had been called out on runs nonstop; Stanley had immediately left at shift end for an appointment. Today it was the opposite with the engine being out all day and the paramedics left loitering around the station with only their thoughts and each other to keep them company.

Tiring of dragging his fork tines through the mashed potatoes, Johnny laid down the utensil and leaned back in his chair. “I would suggest heading over to Rampart to stock up, but since all we’ve used today is a Band-Aid, I guess there’s no point in that.”

Roy blinked his eyes a few times before slowly turning his head and looking at his partner. “Can’t get much slower than this I guess…I wonder when the crew will be back.”

As if on cue, the door in the bay began to rise and they could hear the row rumble of the engine as it backed up the drive. Both men rose, Johnny muttering under his breath “finally” as he grabbed the plates off the table. He scraped them clean of food in the garbage can as Roy carried the silverware and glasses to the sink. A quick wipe down of the table followed and the dishes were in the process of being washed and dried when Captain Stanley trudged wearily into the room.

“Leave us anything?” He questioned tiredly, rubbing a dirty hand through his hair while pointedly sniffing the air.

Johnny pointed the dish towel towards the oven. “It’s in there on warm.”

“Good, think you can dish it……” he stopped in mid-sentence as Gage laid down clean plates and silverware. “……while we clean up, thanks buddy.”

He turned and walked back out, his steps dragging. Johnny shook his head in sympathy and opened the oven door. Using the damp dish towel, he pulled the first dish out and laid it down on the table.

“They look like us last shift, worn out and filthy.”

Roy nodded, pulling the stopper out of the sink and watching the soapy water gurgle down the drain. “We never did get a meal in, did we?”

“Nope, candy bars and a handful of peanuts if I remember correctly,” he answered, snagging the next dish. He paused as the tones blared out, once again summoning the engine crew.

The sound of rapidly moving feet and Stanley’s quiet acknowledgement came from the bay; a moment later it was the door opening and the engine starting as John gently deposited the food back into the oven. He closed it and went out into the garage to shut the double door behind the departing Ward.

Roy wrung out the dish cloth and laid it over the edge of the sink. He met Johnny in the bay and they wordlessly finished up the daily assignments that had not yet been completed by the two linemen and their engineer. They finally crawled into bed at 10:00 pm and briefly woke when the rest of the men finally returned after 11; three hours later they were summoned out on their second call of the shift.

Gage answered the call while Roy grabbed their blue jackets and glanced hurriedly at the wall map. The address was in a residential area of older homes and he was fairly certain they had responded to a call on the same street several months ago. Swinging into the cab, he double checked the address on the slip of paper Johnny handed him and nodded.

“Lots of retired folks in that area, right?” Johnny asked as he slid into the seat beside him and took back the paper.

“Yeah, and I’m pretty sure it’s the same street where that lady fell and broke her hip,” Roy agreed as he eased the truck into the road and accelerated.

“Wide, tree lined streets with older homes and big lots, plus the houses sit back from the street a bit for privacy; it’s a nice area,” he said thoughtfully, wondering if the “difficulty breathing” call was for one of those retired people. “Make sure you turn right onto Shady Lane before we get to Sycamore Street - Oak Lane is split by that runoff canal.”

“Okay, no problem, I forgot about that.”

They rolled down the streets. Mostly deserted this time of night, it was a fast run to the street that led to Oak Lane. Roy flicked off the siren, as requested by dispatch, as they entered the residential area. Lights were spaced far apart on the quiet street, making it hard to read the numbers on the houses. Luckily, in this area there were still curbside mailboxes with numbers stenciled them.

“There it is,” John exclaimed, pointing a finger. Roy turned into the driveway, trying to navigate around overgrown bushes and wincing as the sound of scratching filled the cab. They pulled to the front of the house and glanced uneasily at the dark structure.

“I’m going to verify the address,” Roy decided. He picked up the mic and double checked while Johnny got out and began pulling boxes from the compartment. About to put the mic down, he hesitated and then requested police backup.

“It’s the right one but there’s no call back number,” he informed his partner as he joined him at the side.

Johnny nodded and jerked his chin towards the house. “There’s a faint glow of a light in there; I can see it through that front window between the curtains.”

They approached warily; the door opened under Johnny’s hard knock and a faint voice responded to their calls.

“Back here…can’t breathe…hurry…”

A look passed between them and Gage moved in, pushing the door fully open with the bio-phone to allow them entrance to the darkness beyond. An array of smells met them, none of them pleasant, as they entered and headed for the tiny beam of light emitting from under a door at the back of the house.

Their pace was brisk but cautious as they trod across the small, furniture filled living room and down the narrow, carpeted hallway. There was no further response to Johnny’s repeated assurances that they were on their way; he planted a hand on the door with the light under it and paused, shooting his partner a wary look. Roy knew exactly what he was thinking – there were no sounds whatsoever emitting from the room. Gasps for air, moans, nothing…..Gage turned the knob and pushed it open.

At headquarters, Charles Winston smirked and leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head and tapping a foot silently on the hard floor. His smirk grew into a satisfied grin as he thought about the transmission he had just responded to from those idiotic paramedics over at 51s. He had alerted the sheriff’s department as requested, at least DeSoto had that much sense to ask for backup, he mused, but it would too late for help once those two entered that back bedroom!

How ridiculously simple it had been to change the house number on the dispatcher contest sheet before he photocopied it; a quick flick of the eraser and the address had been changed to a fully furnished rental currently unoccupied. It had been an amazing stroke of luck that the head honchos had chosen that particular address only a mile from the dump that good buddy Joe had just moved out of and those idiots had just entered; Joe still had the key and was easily able to set the whole thing up. The chief and his lackey would be waiting in front of 1381 Oak Lane, while the lame brained duo would be out of sight around the bend and across the canal at 381 Oak Lane…..

TBC


End file.
